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Jan. 31st, 2010 | 11:44 am

Okay kiddies, doing this here to keep it all central or something, and because I know most of my RP buddies also read this journal. Post what and who and I'll write a little thingie. Ficlet? Aren't drabbles technically 100 words? I'm not that exacting. Active (as much as any of my RP chars are active these days) pups are dirk__gently, maylookatkings, call_me_rat, greyedwhite, thrasherpunk, and intermittently agoodfellow and flyhighthing. If that's not enough characters for you, I'm scared, but ask for somebody off the record or something and I can probably accommodate.

1. Playful!
2. Murderous!
3. Flailing!
4. Incarcerated!
5. Deviant!
6. Ill!
7. Intoxicated!
8. Wildly Inappropriate!
9. Eloquent!
10. Cooking!
11. Over-protective!
12. Wanker!
13. Silly!
14. Romantic!
15. Silent-Treatment!
16. Bedtime!
17. Jealous!
18. Inquisitive!
19. Confused!
20. Sexy!
21. Angry!
22. Dorky!
23. Working!
24. Needs-a-Hug!
25. Choose-your-own

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Comments {44}

courtneycrumrin

(no subject)

from: courtneycrumrin
date: Jan. 31st, 2010 05:09 pm (UTC)
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Murderous!Fisher, please! And maybe a Dorky!Chaz. Ooh, can I get an Incarcerated! Dirk, too?

Edited at 2010-01-31 05:10 pm (UTC)

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Fisher

(no subject)

from: maylookatkings
date: Jan. 31st, 2010 07:41 pm (UTC)
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Courtney was the first one to notice the smell. Aloysius, who lived mostly in the upper floors, just shrugged when her parents brought it up. "We live next to the woods. Animals are bound to wander over once in a while, and even most of the house goblins don't want to tangle with a skunk."
He said it might wander off on it's own by night, but the next morning the smell was still there. It came up through the vents, but when Courtney scoured the basement (carefully) she couldn't find it. After her fruitless search she went upstairs to ask Fisher what he thought. She found him asleep on her pillow. He stank.
"Oh... my god... Fish what have you been up to?!?"
He opened his one good eye, and grunted. "Bastard's on my turf."
She felt a little bad for giving him a bath in tomato juice, and he refused to speak to her afterward, just skulked away looking faintly lavender.
The next morning the smell still permeated the basement and kitchen, and Fisher tried to sleep on her laptop, and left it reeking. When she gave him another bath he bit her, not hard enough to draw blood, but still. "I'm gonna kill 'im! 'S for all of you, ya know! I ain't doing this for my health!"
He sulked the rest of the day, and slept.
The next morning as soon as Courtney stepped out of her bedroom she could hear the fight. She raced downstairs barefoot to see a tangle of fur whirling through the kitchen. They bashed into a table leg, and the skunk sprayed everywhere, thrashing with Fisher's teeth in its neck. She backed up while her parents came thundering down to the noise and smell. By the time they all got a good look at the scene, the thing was giving a last spasmic kick. Fisher sat back, scratched, bleeding and dripping. "Got 'im!"

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Chaz Walters

(no subject)

from: thrasherpunk
date: Jan. 31st, 2010 08:22 pm (UTC)
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in retrospect she probably shouldn't have pushed the button.
It was huge and full of a wider variety of people than Greenwich village on a busy night. Chaz couldn't resist exploring. She gravitated to a group of people who looked close to her age, and listened to them talk about music for a few minutes before she tried to join in. "That sounds pretty radical, but I like the Clash and the Dead Kennedys." They turned to look at her, with her high-top sneakers with bright yellow laces, her skinny jeans, puffy-paint graffiti T-shirt, and her jeans jacket. she pulled out a Walkman covered in stickers, and headphones big enough to double as earmuffs.
"Uhh... what's that?"

((Chaz is dorky just by being 80's...))

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dirk__gently

(no subject)

from: dirk__gently
date: Feb. 1st, 2010 04:06 pm (UTC)
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They had taken his red hat, and, perhaps more inhumane still they had taken his cigarettes. Svlad Cjelli sat on the edge of his cot and stared at the far well, mouth twisting continuously in a low mutter. He'd spent a while being in shock, then frittered away some time with denial, and eventually descended into the depths of rage at the unfairness of the universe until it left him feeling drained and shaky.
That had eaten up a couple of hours, at least.
Now he was going over names, trying to come up with a new moniker to use as soon as he got out. It was already abundantly clear to him that no matter how innocent he truly was, no amount of investigation was likely to make it look that way. He was in for the long haul. The best he could do was behave himself. keep his head down, and wait. He'd never been good at keeping his head down, even if he was on the short side. Or more accurately he kept his head relatively low but the enormous red hat he perpetually wore tended to make it stand out anyway. He'd practically made a career out of being noticed precisely by pretending to act like he was trying not to be, but he wasn't quite sure how you were supposed to go about it for real.
It would have been easier without that snarky detective coming around to harass him periodically. The man's name was Gilks, and he looked, to Dirk, like a lamp post with a bottle brush taped onto the light. His comments aggravated Svlad precisely because they were the clever, sarcastic kind of retorts that he always wished he could come up with himself. He was also, strangely, the first person outside his own family he'd ever met who could actually pronounce 'Cjelli' properly. That infuriated him even more, that name coming accurately from that mouth. Under that mustache. What kind of a name was Cjelli anyway? Time to pick a new one and start over. His family didn't seem to want to have much to do with him now anyway. Not since his mother had visited the school at police request and found herself surrounded by student mutterings of 'psychosassic vampire'.
His private rantings were gradually interrupted by the awareness of a funny sound. From somewhere nearby there was a low, steady, monotone murmur. It seemed to be reading off stock market prices. Svlad stirred, and looked around for whoever or whatever was producing the noise, only to realize it was coming from him. He broke off with a groan and rolled over onto the cot, facing the wall.
The prison guard, just out of view at the edge of the bars, sighed and put away his pen. Oh well, if it turned out the rumors about the prisoner were false, nothing lost, and if they were actually true, there was a long sentence ahead of the boy and a fat profit to be made.

Edited at 2010-02-01 04:06 pm (UTC)

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The Shadow

(no subject)

from: evillurks
date: Jan. 31st, 2010 05:42 pm (UTC)
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Working Chaz, because I'm curious.

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Chaz Walters

(no subject)

from: thrasherpunk
date: Feb. 1st, 2010 01:37 am (UTC)
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To get here she had sold real drugs, a few times, although never without the Chief's knowledge. She was a criminal, and she was here among criminals, but she was also here to scope out the place. Later tonight she'd be making a full report, drawing maps, giving every details about the drug dealers and how they safeguarded the warehouse they were dealing from. Her information would hopefully be enough for other agents the Chief himself to make a full out raid and send the crooks scampering into the arms of the police.
She just had to get through this meeting and get out alive again, first.
One thug nudged the other, eyeing her. "Check it out, that one's a chick!"
"Hunh. Too scrawny."
Chaz stuck out her jaw a little further, and pretended not to hear them. Instead she focused on memorizing every detail of the faces of the men supervising the little bags of powder being passed out. She stood in line with the boys, paid for her share with money she knew was marked, and made a little tough talk with the other dealers before skulking away. It wasn't until after she made her full report that she went home, took a hot shower, and stood in it until she stopped shaking.

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(no subject)

from: harley_is_love
date: Jan. 31st, 2010 06:41 pm (UTC)
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Sexy!Markus (Rat). Because I think it would be amusing.

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Markus Rathbone

Heeey, are you saying he's not normally sexy?

from: call_me_rat
date: Feb. 1st, 2010 01:51 am (UTC)
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Valentine's Day last year wasn't half bad, since he and Harley had just become an official item, but this year is different. There are flowers and chocolate, again, for Harley and April both. In the evening he's careful to slip off to the bedroom first, after goodnight hugs for April. Harley gets to put her to bed tonight, even though normally he'd be glad to do the job.
By the time Harley comes to the bedroom, the lights are out, but there are candles on the nightstand. All he's wearing is the blanket, strategically draped, and a box wrapped in red paper.
"I got you something else, too..." He grins and offers it out. "Maybe you'd like to make sure it fits?" Whatever it is, it can't be very big, judging by the size of the box.

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(no subject)

from: placeboweek
date: Jan. 31st, 2010 10:18 pm (UTC)
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How about Jealous!Rat, since he rarely is, and over-protective!Dirk

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Markus Rathbone

(no subject)

from: call_me_rat
date: Feb. 1st, 2010 02:14 am (UTC)
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When he head about 'Caitlyn' and 'Sam', he took it with a good-natured smile. None of them had been themselves, then. When Harley mentioned the Joker, or Spike, he was sympathetic and held her close. On the beach in summer, or in a bar out for a night on the town, he didn't worry, because Harley didn't seem to give anyone else a second glance.
Then one day she coaxed him into the nexus, where they wandered and chatted with people for a while, until beside him Harley gave a little gasp. He followed her line of sight to a blonde man with the most incredible cheekbones Rat had ever seen. Harley bit her lip, and looked back at him, and apologized. She had to check. He didn't know her at all, just another alternate, but Markus watched them talk.
He was blonde, and youthful, and clean, with a full head of hair and cover model features. Spike would never age, never see a wrinkle in the mirror or lose his hair, and his physique was perfectly and naturally toned. Even when she came back to his side, held his hand, and kissed him, Markus felt a little worm gnawing at his heart.

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i glimpsed a bat with butterfly wings

(no subject)

from: dragonwhishes
date: Feb. 1st, 2010 01:19 am (UTC)
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How about a Working!Rat, since I'm curious about his day as a taxi-driver, and an Angry!Dirk.

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Markus Rathbone

Two worlds, man.

from: call_me_rat
date: Feb. 1st, 2010 02:41 am (UTC)
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Living at Harley's gave life a routine. In the morning Rat could hop in the cab and generally find a resident who needed to go into the city for one errand or another, and once he dropped them off he usually refueled the car. Gas was always more expensive on the beach, especially in summer when the tourists were there. After that there was a diner he usually dropped in. Harley refused to let him out the door without breakfast, but he never minded a second cup of coffee, and his primary motivation was networking. The cabbies dominated one end of the counter, this time of day, and he could trade news. They looked out for each other, shared information on where gas was the cheapest, what events in town would call for extra work, and Rat himself was known for always being in the know to whatever road work might be going on. It seemed uncanny, how up to date he was on that.
The rest of the day was spent carrying fares, cruising the shopping district or on a nice day around the park. There were good fares to be made later in the evening, but he usually missed them now, unwilling to trade money for evenings home with Harley and sometimes April too. If there was something big in town, he sometimes made the trek home and then back out later, but evenings in seemed more appealing all the time.

Some days, though, he never showed up in the diner. Once or twice a month he dropped out of sight of the cabbies. Clean-shaven, dressed in his good suit, Mr. Rathbone debated developments and weighed the needs and available funding for the new school. Schools. As soon as the grade school was completed, or maybe sooner, they'd need to start work on a middle school. The city was growing, and he was helping its youth grow up. It was exciting to be in on the meetings, to walk the construction site with people saying his name respectfully and asking his advice on the plans, but he sometimes wondered what his buddies back in the diner would think if they saw him now.

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dirk__gently

You should recognize the references...

from: dirk__gently
date: Feb. 1st, 2010 06:48 pm (UTC)
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Dirk hated doing the lady fortune-teller gig in the backs of pubs. Usually it was a last resource to make some quick money after somebody with a baseball bat came around to remind him of money he'd borrowed. He did them dressed as a woman just to preserve his dignity. As long as he'd shaved that morning, behind the thick glasses and with his head well wrapped in a scarf, he could pass for a really ugly, overweight, older woman. The advantage to passing for an ugly woman was that no one ever tried to look close enough to realize he was actually a man, and he'd only ever been recognized for himself once.*
He didn't enjoy cross-dressing, at all, but it paled in comparison to the worst part. The worst part was that no matter how blunderingly, blatantly wrong he tried to be, his predictions were almost always in some horrible twisted way right.
Dirk knew this, because often people came back. Sometimes they were pleased, and more often they were not, and they usually let Dirk know just how painfully accurate he'd been at a volume that attracted attention. Sometimes it involved throwing a chair or two. Dirk could hold his own if he had to, but he preferred to avoid bar room fights. Rather than fight back in these situations, he invariably fled. Generally speaking, he couldn't blame whoever came after him for it, because he would have done the same if he were in their shoes.
It left him angry, though, in his own way. It all would have been so much easier if he could have just been wrong, even fifty percent of the time. The nights when it really got to him, those were the nights when he hauled himself up to the roof of his house, to rant at the universe at large. Sometimes the universe had a perverse sense of humor, and Dirk wanted to personally throttle it and lean on its windpipe until it turned bluer than the unanswering sky above him.

*Since it had been someone he owed money too, but he'd just made some accurate predictions involving the man's extra-marital affair, the moment of recognition had been a very awkward one. They decided to call it even and part ways quickly.

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agent_myra

(no subject)

from: agent_myra
date: Feb. 1st, 2010 10:26 pm (UTC)
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Mmm, I'm torn, I'll pick two though.

Flailing!Owen
Jealous!Chaz

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Chaz Walters

Yeah, I can see that...

from: thrasherpunk
date: Feb. 2nd, 2010 08:25 pm (UTC)
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Helen Menz wasn't like any other agent. Chaz had worked for The Shadow long enough to pick up on how he interacted with his agents, and the way he acted with her was not the same. Sure, he called her by her last name, and some of the friendliness was just an act for in public, but there was something else about the way he talked to her, something underneath the instructions.
He talked to her almost like she was an equal.
She knew it was irrational, the other woman was probably a decade older, and it was pretty clear that even though she was new on the scene here, she was somebody who'd worked with him before. Chaz spent a lot of time observing, looking for details and hints. She read Sherlock Holmes under the covers (and hid them from anyone her own age who came over). If she didn't know better, she'd say The Shadow liked Helen Menz.
In her daydreams, she worked her way up to being a valuable agent, held her own in shoot-outs and dealt with thugs twice her size bare-handed. In her dreams The Shadow looked on her with approval, and let her work by his side. In her dreams, Chaz Walters took the place of Helen Menz.

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